


Open Hands

by zeldadestry



Category: My So-Called Life
Genre: Community: 100_women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-24
Updated: 2006-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:44:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It just seems right to go and sit down next to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Hands

**Author's Note:**

> prompt 031, 'jewelry', for 100_women fanfic challenge

It’s not like they’re friends again, not really. They don’t share secrets, or joke with each other, or make plans for the weekend, or hug when they meet. It’s just that they both have third period off each day and, sometimes, when Angela wanders outside, Rayanne is already there, sitting by herself on the steps, and it just seems right to go and sit down next to her. Sometimes it’s Angela who’s sitting there, waiting, and, when Rayanne appears, she’s usually brought an offering in her outstretched hand, something to share while they’re together, a soda or candy, maybe, or coffee on a cold day. Rayanne knows how Angela likes her coffee, with lots of whole milk and cinnamon sprinkled on top, and that’s how she makes it, which, really, is almost too much of a gift. You don’t owe me anything, Angela wants to say, sometimes, and she would, maybe she would, except that she understands that Rayanne wants to do these things for her, that it somehow makes her happy.

Sometimes neither of them even says a word, not hello nor good-bye, absolutely nothing. Sometimes they don’t even look at each other while they’re sitting there. But their eyes always meet at least twice, no matter what, once when one of them arrives and again when one of them rises to leave.

Sometimes, when one of them is hurting, they do touch. Angela doesn’t know how Rayanne knows, but she always does, and her arms wrap around Angela’s shoulders, she presses their cheeks together just for a moment and whispers, “Angelika, don’t be sad.” And when it’s Rayanne who’s upset, Angela just takes her hand, holds tight for as long as she can. And when Rayanne can’t take it, when it’s too much, and she pulls away, stands quickly, wiping her eyes and says, “Sorry, I’ve just gotta get out of here,” and runs off towards the parking lot, Angela doesn’t follow. She doesn’t need to follow. She’ll be there again tomorrow and so will Rayanne.

Today when she sits down Rayanne is already there and, judging by the butts beside her paint-splattered combat boots, onto her fourth cigarette. “You’ve got to stop smoking,” Angela says.

Rayanne just rolls her eyes. It’s not like this is a new conversation. “Why?”

And it comes to Angela so suddenly, the reason she doesn’t want Rayanne to smoke, a reason so crucial that Rayanne can’t possibly refute it. “Your voice,” she says. “It’s not good for your voice.”

“So?”

“Your voice is beautiful.”

“So?”

“Rayanne…”

“What?”

“I love your voice.”

Rayanne smirks, throws the cig down and watches as Angela grounds it out with her heel. “You’re such a fucking sap, Chase, you know that?”

“Isn’t that what you like about me?”

“I don’t like anything about you,” Rayanne says softly. “Everything about you makes me absolutely sick.” Angela blushes, blushes even more when she realizes Rayanne understands. “I guess you kinda hate me, too,” she says and smiles.

Angela’s staring straight ahead, at kids skateboarding in the parking lot on a homemade ramp, but she can feel Rayanne watching her. Fall is almost over. The trees are bare, the days are short, but there is something extraordinary about the air right now, cool and fresh, there is something extraordinary about this light, diffused by thick clouds, making everything look uniformly bright. Her photo teacher said cloudy days were good for taking pictures, but she can’t remember why. Sometimes she feels like everything she knows is like that; she can never remember the reason behind anything. Even when people tell her their reasons, they never really make sense. Anytime someone hurts her, they always seem to have an explanation, as though that could ever make a difference. She’s no better, though, and she knows it. “Ever get sick of the real world?”

“Are you kidding? All the time. Thank god for sleep. I dreamt about you last night.”

“Really?” Now she gets to watch Rayanne, who stares off into the distance, avoiding her gaze.

“Yeah. You were a Buddhist nun.”

“Get out.”

“No, seriously. You gave me a mala.”

“What’s a mala?”

“They’re these bracelets of wooden beads, sandalwood, I think. You can use them to meditate or pray. Like if you had a mantra, you could recite it with your exhale, once for each bead.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know. Are you harboring a secret desire for a life of celibacy?”

“It’d be less complicated.”

“I could never do it. I can’t even give up smoking.”

“Yeah, but sex isn’t as addictive.”

“Oh, Ms. Innocence! Who have you been fucking? They must not know what they’re doing.”

Angela’s blushing again. “I haven’t been, actually.”

“Haven’t been what?”

“You know…fucking.”

Rayanne claps, then pinches Angela’s cheek. “You! You are so cute when you swear! Oh my god! This is why I dream about you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re like this!”

“Like what?”

“Like you are, you’re so exactly like you are. Exactly!”

“What was your mantra?”

“What?”

“In your dream…what was it?”

“No. No, no, no, no, no!”

“Yes! Tell me, Ray. What was it?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“No, I won’t.”

“You will.”

“You know I won’t.”

“Mayallbeingsknowpeace,” she mutters.

“What?”

“Mayallbeingsknowpeace.”

“What?”

“Give me your hands. Ok. Close your eyes. Ok.” Angela can feel her move in close. “May all beings know peace,” she whispers.

“Oh,” Angela says, eyes still closed. “Oh, that’s so pretty,” she says, squeezing Rayanne’s hands tighter in her own.

“Are your eyes still closed?”

“Yes.”

“Good. So are mine. Ok. Now. Do you ever dream about me?”

“Sometimes. One time I dreamt we were stranded on an island.”

“Don’t tell me, don’t tell me! I just wanted to know if you ever did.” Rayanne pulls her hands away. “I gotta go,” she says.

Angela can hear her gathering her things, hears her running away up the stairs. She sits there for a long moment, just breathing, listening to the shouts of the guys down in the parking lot, the song of a bird overhead. When she opens her eyes it’s the world in front of her that seems a dream.


End file.
